Colour
by Follower of Pan
Summary: A follow-up to my story Peppermint. PB investigates into the Great Mushroom War further, while dealing with her own life since we last saw her. But how do The Rainicorn-Dog Wars come into play? Dark, Gritty, if you read Peppermint, you know what to expect. Maybe.
1. Chapter 1

A diplomatic mission. That's what she told her subjects she had spent all that time on. Aside from knowledge, what PB valued most in herself was her social standing, not so much as a royal of high standing, but as a lady and a scholar. Clearly one could see why she didn't want her subjects knowing of her "moment of weakness."

She didn't know how long she'd been in the library, and she didn't know how long it had been since she was dragged out by Finn and Marceline; one can never seem to keep track of time when they're not focused on the here and now. All she knew was that she was alone with her thoughts, and they were insufficient. Surely there was some redeeming detail, some justification for the bizzarness and morbidity she had witnessed?

It wasn't all bad; at least she'd fallen back into a schedule. She'd wake up in the morning, have a light brunch, and head straight to the library; there she'd multitask between further research and signing bills into laws; sure, it was a bit irresponsible, but what's the worst law the Candy Citizens could come up with? (She probably wouldn't have risked it if she'd given that question any real thought.)

What information she could find was useless; the first Prince and Princess weren't viewed very insightfully by history, rather like one views Achilles when reading the Odyssey or Merlin in the Legends of King Arthur; powerful and iconic, yet not the focus of the story. Genetics and mutations were a new science to the Candy People, a field founded by herself. She shuddered at the thought of comparing her heritage to the blasphemy against nature that was Lemongrab (which is not to say that other, more successful experiments were so vile. Old beliefs die hard, no matter how grounded in fact they are.) What remained of the Great Mushroom War were charred notes and hidden memories, locked away from her by madness and secrecy.

It was from this secrecy that she delved even further into madness. A strange paranoia, a hinting yet overwhelming mistrust surrounded her whenever she was around one of her friends that she knew to have even the slightest relation.

She had alienated Finn almost entirely for this reason, albeit subconsciously; Sometimes she would see Marceline, or at least something that looked like her; a fleeting shadow, a rustling tree.

She had cut herself off from her subjects as much as possible; where she once saw childlike innocence, she know saw animalistic ignorance; where she once watched with a motherly affection, she now watched in contempt and fear. No, not fear. Fear requires an immediate sense of threat. What she felt was a bizarre of her would kill to go back to the way things were, to unknow this forbidden knowledge; another part of her wished she knew more, understood more; and another part of her was incredibly anxious for her meeting later that day.


	2. Chapter 2

She gave up on the library.

Frustration had won out. She couldn't stand the idea of pouring over non-clue after non-clue anymore. She stomped off towards her lab, startling at least one banana guard.

She began examining the body in front of her intently; all limbs intact, perfectly preserved organs, caramel filled; perfect conditions, minus being dead.

She began her work, cutting, examining, sewing, and injecting. Part of her wondered if this was how _they_ were made. She shuddered and brushed off the thought. Eventually, she came to the liver. Or what should have been the liver. Instead she found a round, rubbery, tight lipped bag, filled with air. She touched it, and out came the flatulent sound she expected.

"Very funny, Marceline."

"Aww, how'd you know it was me?" came a voice, as Marceline swooped out of the shadows and lay down on an examination table.

"I would have caught Finn and Jake by know. And really, a whoopee cushion?"

"Well, I figured you could use a little humour, considering how... busy you've been."

"Yeah." There was a silence. She knew what she wanted to ask, what she'd already asked, but she already knew that wouldn't work.

"Marcy?"

Marceline, who'd been avoiding eye contact at all costs, looked back up from the scalpel she'd been playing with.

"Do you remember that conversation we had?"

"Look, I told you, I don't wanna-"

"I know, I know, not that conversation. The one right before I met with the archeologists."

"It's been awhile..." she started, clearly not knowing where PB was going with this.

"You asked me if I believed in Glob or Cosmic Owl or whatever." Her stare was piercing Marceline as she spoke.

"Look, I'm sorry if I got you all psyched out before what you saw, but-"

"Do you?"

Another silence. While it was just as tense, this was a more suspicious silence. "Do I what?"

"Do you believe in Glob? Or Cosmic Owl? What do you believe in?"

Not so much a silence as a pause, as she decided whether or not to speak, before finally conceding. "Sometimes the world is a dark place. Scary place. Sometimes hell breaks loose. It's comforting to believe there's something out there, something big, and it's on your side. So yeah, when I need to, I believe. Course, it probably wouldn't be on my side, given the collateral I've caused." She gave an uncomfortable chuckle, as one does when they here a rather morbid joke.

PB didn't know what to do with this information. She wouldn't know what she'd do with it no matter what the answer was, but somewhere in her she knew this was a part of the puzzle. "Then I hope you can keep believing."

"And I hope you can find something for when the world is a dark place." She picked up a needle from the tool tray, poking her finger at it to test its sharpness, and just piercing her skin. "We all need a narcotic sometimes."


	3. Chapter 3

When one meets with royalty, one usually does so in a throne room or place of great historical meaning. Typically, this does not include poorly lit, slightly dingy medical labs. Of course, the lab itself was less like a hospital and more like a mausoleum.

"Pass me that scalpel, if you would, Professor."

PB had been halfway through an important experiment, and she refused to leave any project unfinished, even temporarily. Too the disgust of her guests, this experiment required a body, specifically a dead pudding candy-person. However, she was still listening as intently as possible, despite neglecting to turn off the recorded classical music blaring from behind her. After all, how could she not listen, when this had been the same team that first introduced her to the works of Dr. Strauer?

Perhaps "the same team" was a bit of a stretch. Most of the team was missing, she assumed killed in a squabble over some minor trinket, by the vampire who had yet to hear of "personal hygiene," whom was watching her intently from across the table. Other than that creature, the only returning member was the Rainicorn professor.

"We were on a dig, m'lady, in the Shining Empire of Rainicornia, when we discovered a sort of hidden metal room."

She lined up the needle for injection directly into the aorta.

"That was where we found the tapes."

She gave an involuntary shudder, either of excitement or fear, and the needle rammed into the patient, tearing apart a fair amount of flesh. Suddenly, it's eyes opened, it's limbs flailed, and it began screaming in pain and fear and confusion and rage, before finally falling back into the comfort of death.

"The room. What. Was. It. For?"

The Rainicorn Professor thought over his next words carefully, not in order to manipulate her, but deciding if it was right, especially after the spectacle he'd just seen, to tell her .

"It was a science lab, m'lady."


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, it's been a while. Not nearly as long as I took on the last story :D Either way, let's see what I've got~**

She was going to be disappointed. She knew she would. There were countless numbers of tapes in the world, countless science labs, where people performed ethical, non-malicious experiments. Why should this one be any different? Why should it be any different than the last few labs and buildings she had been brought to, brimming with excitement, only to be crushed when she was brought to an apartment building or high school?

What's more, this so-called-science-lab was several thousand miles from the last lab. Whereas the previous lab was hidden away, deep under the ice and snow of the frozen north, this one was to be found in the warm, swampy southeast of the continent, where the Rainicorns made their homes outside of the Crystal Dimension.

Either way, at least it got her out of the castle. She'd forgotten how bright the sun was. And how warm it was. It was hot that day, a very humid, sticky heat that one could only bear if they were swimming or indoors. Unfortunately enough, PB was neither of these things. Instead, she was in a pink caravan, grudging along the thick, muddy road as she sweat, trying to focus on her reading.

After an hour spent on the same paragraph, she gave up, closing her copy of _The Wonders of the Invisible World, _slumping in her seat. She wished she'd brought someone with her. Misery enjoys company, after all. Finn would have come up with some sort of game or joke by now. Marceline would have teased her and sparked an argument. PB realized she missed her friends.

After about an hour or so of boredom, sweat, and insects, the caravan stopped. She stepped out, getting a good look at the laboratory. It was very simple building, architecturally. Simply a large concrete cube, only one story in height, covered in mud and graffiti. One wall had begun crumbling, revealing the walls to be several feet thick.

As she was lead inside, she realized that most of the building was dedicated to a single room, split down the center by a thick glass wall. Somehow, the electric lights in the room still worked, and as she turned them on, she found a cluttered mess. Pieces of bizarre machinery, rusted farming equipment, pages from books torn from their binding, and deteriorating architecture littered the floor. PB could appreciate the mess, being a supporter of organized chaos herself.

Just as she was about to further investigate the papers scattered along the desks and floor, out of the corner of her eye she discovered a backroom, the door barely noticeable, as it was painted the same dull pale yellow as the walls. She entered the room, only to find three wooden framed cots, each with blankets tossed over them sloppily. Each cot was facing a small television set with a VCR underneath it and a set of tapes to its right.

She paused before investigating further. A thousand what-ifs and could-bes floated through her head all at once. Even still, she found herself moving forward subconsciously, then leafing through the tapes, then reading their titles.

_Hercules. The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The Little Mermaid. The Breakfast Club. Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Cinderella._

Finally she came to one with a title, hand-written.

_FIX THIS_

Her fingertips tingled as she fought herself to pick up the tape. To put it into the VCR. To press Play.

She was met by that same face, those same icey-blue eyes that she saw every time she closed her eyes. Behind him were the same children, the girl nursing her child, the boy watching a cartoon involving sarcastic woodland animals. But the part that confirmed her fear and spiked her scientific curiousity the most, was that same deep, disarming, matter-of-fact-voice.

"I have made a grave mistake."


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry guy, I just totally forgot about this. I'd been working on other projects, school, relationships, and the rest of life. Either way, have a thing:

Seeing Doctor Strauer on the screen was pleasantly horrifying, in the same sort of way one discovers they were right that they have a terrible illness; it is horrible that they have a terrible illness, but they were right, god damn it. However, once the initial shock of exactly what was expected happening, she truly began to focus on the words of the man, rather than his continued existence since his last tape.

"Since I began my work on the PEPPERMINT project, my naïveté lead me to believe that my creations had the ability to replace humans as the apex predator. I was unfortunately mistaken."

At this point, he shakily picked up his camera, moving towards the shuttered window of the apartment. He stopped and pushed the camera through the blinds to see the street below. There walked several people, passing an old homeless man as they walked. Out of an alleyway, what she assumed to be the quite spoiled ancestor to one of her banana guards, rather than walk upright in the dignified manner she was used to, crawled, no, dragged itself from the shadows. A business man stopped to kick it in the face before carrying on his way, leaving the homeless man a feast. The camera turned back to Strauer.

"My plans have failed. It is likely my 'super-soldiers' will barely fill Britain by the time the mistake is corrected."

At this point, Strauer turned the camera to 'Prince Peter.' He sat there, wearing only a sweat-shirt, mesmerised by the television in front of him.

"Look at the runt. _Such_ a disappointment. And _so_ much potential too. Yes, I admit it, I have failed."

PB could hear her heart pounding in that second of utter disbelief. How could this evil, unstoppable force of cruelty suddenly be broken down into a uselessness and self-pity?

"I am so lucky that I have found my new employer. He is a politician looking for someone with my, _prowess_, for the mutation of bizarre and unnatural life."


End file.
